


The Demon and the Devil

by astrospecial



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bondage, Captivity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Fantasy, Forced Orgasm, Hair Kink, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sadism, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/pseuds/astrospecial
Summary: A queen takes her prize.
Relationships: Conquering Queen/Defeated Enemy Commander (OW), Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	The Demon and the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeedsMoreBears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeedsMoreBears/gifts).



When Briseis— General of His Majesty’s First Division Army— fell on the battlefield, she hoped for death. She had torn souls from her enemies and wrenched their life from them as easily as any god, had left men dying behind her as she rode toward victory, yet she was selfish. A quick death was all she prayed for as her vision went dark.

Death did not come; chains encircled her wrists and ankles, and from that scarred stretch of land outside the city she would have reclaimed for her country, she was marched in and summarily jailed. 

How many days passed in that damp cell, her only company the strange tongues of her guards and the deep bell tolling outside? When the sound had rung so often that it rattled in her headache-filled skill, she had asked what it signified in her broken words. 

“Every bell is death,” returned a guard in a bastardized version of her language. His shadowy form pointed at her. “Death.”

It was the next day that she saw the executions. Some faces she knew were hung, others she didn’t were decapitated. They looked at her, the woman they had dubbed ‘The Golden General’ for the armor that matched her hair. They saw her in chains, her hair matted with blood, her armorless body weak. She saw the hope vanish from their eyes and heard the bell reverberate through the warm air.

The day after that, the guards woke her early in the morning, and she was scrubbed with too warm water and soap. Her old rags were replaced with a thin cotton dress, and they led her out of that cold dungeon into the blinding light. She didn’t bother to ask where they were going, and her struggle died when her feet hit the hallway’s cool tile. Her death’s bell already echoed in her ears. Whether it came from the end of a rope or sword was no matter.

What she did not expect was to be marched into the castle’s throne room. She had hoped to see its splendor from the viewpoint of glory, to see its vibrant tiled floors bathed in blood, its inhabitants kneeling in chains. It would have been her last war. His Majesty would have given her a piece of land, a noble title, and a noble council seat. Yet her hands were chained behind her back and the Demon Queen breathed and lived on the throne in front of her.

They spoke of her beauty even in her country, but her betrayal was more often discussed. At the age of sixteen, some ten years ago, she had killed her father and the queen-consort in their sleep, choked their life out with the magic she’d been blessed with. She ascended to the throne the next day and began her conquest of terror. City-states fell to her, sent her gifts prostrated. Briseis’s country would not, and in retaliation, she took their pride and made it her capital. 

The Demon Queen watched her from her gilded throne. Briseis tried to summon loathing for that face she had heard songs about— the wide, innocent eyes with thick lashes, the chin pointing to a neck adorned with jewelry, the sheer dress flowing off sloping hips— but the crimes she had committed were divorced from her beauty. Her face was one from childhood storybooks, of mage empire princesses. She couldn’t help the bitter thought that if she had won, their positions would be reversed, and that face would be hers to possess. It would have been the jewel of her victory.

Then the Demon Queen said something— melodic, not the ugly noises of enemies— to the guard beside her. He laughed, then barked something at the guards at Briseis’s side. She cursed herself for not bothering to learn their language as the guards turned her around and shoved her out of the throne room. But she never thought it would be necessary; it was the role of the conquered. Her role now.

The hallways blurred past her as she stumbled with the guards’ quick strides. They opened a grand doorway, and with a fear that grabbed her heart, she realized that they had arrived at the Demon Queen’s quarters. Decapitation and hangings were fast if done right, but whatever the Demon Queen had in mind for her? It would not be the painless death she wanted. She steeled herself— she would not show fear to these barbarians.

The guards sat her in front of the bed and looped the ankle chains around the bedposts. It made the position an awkward kneel, and her energy was spent trying to keep balance with her hands behind her back. Long ago, before she failed her people, this would have been easy to hold. Now, she was thankful there was a rug beneath her. A note of grief, sharper than any blade, stabbed her.

The Demon Queen entered. The guards bowed, but she sent them to their feet and out of the room with a short word. Once the heavy door had slammed behind her, she approached Briseis like one would a feral animal in a cage. Briseis felt feral, she _was_ caged, and if she had her strength she would have wrapped her hands around the Demon Queen’s throat and sentenced her to hell. Briseis pulled at her chains.

The Demon Queen’s lip twitched at the rattle. Up close, her beauty burned brighter than an oil lamp. As she stared at her face, she thought of how she, the victorious war hero, would have wedded her and kept her until her beauty faded. It was a sweet fantasy, could make the strongest people forget their hurts and lose themselves in delusion. But Briseis was no longer strong, and she couldn’t forget how many of her countrymen this woman had killed, even if it was tempting while she looked into her glimmering eyes. 

She flinched when the Demon Queen touched her chin. “Hello,” she said, which was the only word out of many that she understood. Briseis shook her head, and thankfully her life-taking hand fell off with the motion. 

A low chuckle filled the room's crackling silence— after hundreds of blows to the head, Briseis had lost the joys of silence long ago. She wished the ringing would drown out the Demon’s Queen voice, but even that prayer did not reach God. She said in Briseis’s tongue: “My name is Auriel. Do you understand? Call me Auriel.”

Her eyes widened, and the rage she thought dead boiled in her gut. To think she, His Majesty’s greatest general, had ever let this succubus touch her! That she had let it happen with her only dissent being a shake of the head! Even if there wasn’t hope, even if that _had_ died the day her soldiers did, she still had pride. Her King demanded she not waver; her country demanded she fight. 

Briseis jerked away from her— it was all she could in chains, but the violent motion still made her wrists and ankles ache. “You,” she said, putting all her hatred and anger and sadness into her words, “are a monster. I will never say your name, given to you by parents who you murdered!” The Demon Queen’s face sharpened to something deadly, but Briseis did not see her; she saw her soldiers, her brigadiers, her aides, even the blurred mass of camp followers. She saw them and knew that they had died and been sold thinking that she had failed them, and the hatred flowed out of her mouth like bile. “If I had won, your head would be on this floor, and—“

A slap cracked across her cheek and she bit her tongue. She blinked away the pain, but the warmth on her face remained, the scratches from her fingernails stinging. It made her shrink back ever so slightly. 

“First,” the Demon Queen said, her hand moving to grip Briseis’s chin painfully, “you will respect me. You have lost. Your army is defeated.” She stared into Briseis’s eyes, frowning. Her perfume smelled like lilacs, like death. “Your country is gone. Your king is dead. I am your ruler.”

The anger that had consumed her a moment ago was now an icy chill crawling to her throat. She felt drained in her grip and wondered if it was her magic. “I don’t believe you.”

“Do you know why I have spared you?” She tightened her grip. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

If a small part wasn’t terrified of what would happen, she would have spat on her. Words were safer, she thought, words would only become slaps. 

“Because you’re a sadistic bitch?”

The Demon Queen’s head tilted to the side as her nails dug into the soft skin under Briseis’s chin. “For every insult, five lashes. You are at twenty-five. A few more, and if this was your backward country, the ‘medical’ treatment would kill you. But you will not die here.” With a sigh, she let go and sat on the plush bed above her. Briseis craned her neck and was greeted by her long legs disappearing into fabric. She looked to the floor. Attraction had no place here, not anymore; not when her country could be nothing but dust. The thought threatened to swallow her whole, so she closed her eyes and listened to the voice which began to sound gentle.

“The reason I spared you,” the Demon Queen continued, “was because of your hair.” She lifted a strand and held it in her fingers, the pull harsh enough to feel. “Even uncared for, it’s a remarkable color. ‘The Golden General,’ The Blonde Devil.’ What lover of beauty would I be if I let this hair burn to ash?” Another sigh, better fit for lovesick girls than a cruel killer. “What is your real name? There is no point in fighting anymore; I want things to be pleasant for you.”

Maybe, just maybe, the voice could sweep her away. “Briseis,” she said.

“Beautiful.”

Briseis could never have prepared herself for what happened next. It was worse than any blow, worse than death: the Demon Queen leaned down and kissed her. The shock of warm lips made her pause, and for a moment, she let herself give in to the scent of lilac. She regained herself a second later— the rage, the pride, the only things she had left to cling to— and recoiled away.

The Demon Queen blinked like she had come out of a daze, then stood. “This is going to happen anyway.” If the note of sadness in her voice was real or imagined, Briseis couldn’t have said. Never in a million years did she think—

She kissed her again, and this time she couldn’t move, her head firmly locked in place by the Demon Queen’s hand. A part of her, the primal part that wanted to slink away from this, was afraid of her, so when the Demon Queen bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, she did nothing but gasp out. Blood was not a foreign taste; it hung thick in the air in battle, but this time, the taste was alien. It was something she had never known: defeat.

The Demon Queen pulled back, grinning as she wiped her mouth. Briseis wondered if spitting on the floor would constitute more lashes as the Demon Queen’s hands went behind her dress. Her dress fell to the floor with a _swish,_ pooling at her feet. She was not wearing a slip. The expanse of her unblemished stomach was exposed completely. Briseis didn’t know whether to look _up_ or _down_ , so she stared at her navel, soft and unlike hers that was hardened from war.

She felt a tingling between her legs, and unconsciously she tried to shift and relieve some of the pressure between them. The chains kept her firmly in place, and she tried to will her arousal away instead. Despite everything, despite the grief crawling along her skin, she was still a slave to the desires she had never tried to leave. 

Above her, the Demon Queen chuckled. “Don’t worry,” she said softly, “I’ll take care of you.” Then she spread Briseis’s knees— the stretch burned her thighs, unused to the movement now— and pushed her dress above her breasts. 

Burning shame flooded her body. “Don’t,” she said, but she could barely get her voice above a whisper. She closed her eyes to the woman before her, but what would happen to her was inescapable. Images from her past flooded her mind. How many times had she stolen a girl from her home, taken her as a prize in chains? How many times had she laughed, kissing her and pretending not to hear her quiet sobs? The memories had been wonderful before, had even comforted her in the cells. She tried to clench her legs shut and couldn’t. “Don’t.”

The Demon Queen shook her head. Wisps of her hair that had fallen out of her updo shone in the afternoon light. “I’ve wanted this for too long.” 

She descended on her nipple and sucked hard, making Briseis’s hips buck toward her even as she tried to move away. The tingle in her spine grew, spread to her cunt. When she glanced down she could see the wetness slicking her thighs and couldn’t bear seeing it. A bite on her nipple made pain bloom across closed eyelids, made her cunt throb. 

The pressure on her nipple, the pain and pleasure that were intermixing too quickly, stopped. Briseis exhaled, relieved. But it was replaced by something worse: one of her slender fingers began rubbing her clit. Her thighs tensed as her whole body jerked, desperate to get away from the traitorous feeling. The Demon Queen laughed, and the wet noises of her fingers slipping into Briseis’s cunt punctuated her words. “So responsive and just as beautiful as I thought...like a caged lion. I would love to see you in the area, ripping a throat out with your teeth.” 

Briseis gasped from the pain as the Demon Queen bit her neck, tears smarting her eyes. She was a general, and yet somehow this was worse than anything else she had endured. Maybe it was because, as her legs began to shake from the Demon Queen’s movements on her clit and as she let out small, hiccuping moans, she realized how much she enjoyed it, how easy it was to give herself into the sensation.

Just when her gut tightened, when it was almost over, the Demon Queen stood and pulled her hand away. She sobbed, thrashing against her chains. It was too much— first the pleasure, and then the hollow feeling of having it ripped away. 

A minute or an hour or a day later— time was meaningless— Briseis blinked back her tears and forced herself to look at the woman she was beginning to hate. She was breathing heavy, eyes lidded, one hand fisted in her bedsheets and the other working at her clit. Her throat rippled with every swallow that gave way to a gasp, and Briseis was entranced watching her. How could someone so cruel look so magical?

Abruptly the Demon Queen stopped— not tense with orgasm but with self-control. “This will go on until you call my name,” she said, her voice choked in a way that made Briseis shiver. Her foot, manicured and soft, lazily rubbed at Briseis’s wetness, stroking her thighs to her hard stomach. Briseis tried to rock into her foot, but she pulled away. “Until you beg me to give you release, I will not stop.”

“Demon Queen—” 

“My real name. I hope you remember it.”

Fingers entered her then, and Briseis’s mind raced against the pleasure, thinking. She had said she would never, but how long could she go on? The Demon Queen thrust in and out with two fingers and her knees burned as she tried to clamp her legs together. She would rather die than call her by her name, but how long could she live like this?

She found herself staring up at the ceiling, her head thrown back. The Demon Queen had stopped, but she was still on a sword’s edge, body burning with need. She wanted this to be over. She wanted everything to stop. 

A hand caressed her throat, pressed down on the bruise she had given earlier. Then—

Briseis couldn’t breathe. The air had left her in a second. It was like her throat had closed in on itself, yet there wasn’t a grip on her neck or anything she could buck off. Her hands rolled in her chains, her eyes stung but she forced them to see, forced herself to understand.

She would die like the Demon Queen’s parents if she didn’t—

“Please,” she said amid a gasp, only a sip of air, not near enough. She could feel herself fading, the room and the beautiful demon in front of her covered with black spots. “Auriel—”

She inhaled. She could breathe. 

Her mouth went to her nipple and her hand to her cunt, two curled fingers and one pressing down on her clit. There was no stopping it now, no room for pride— she had been on the edge too many times and the lightheaded feeling was too much. She rocked her hips up, moaning aloud, saying her name like a prayer. 

When she tensed, Auriel didn’t stop, fingering and sucking her through her orgasm. It soon became painful: Briseis's thighs quivered and her moans became whimpers, trying to force out pleas to stop. But Auriel didn’t hear them, or she didn’t care. The pleasure compounded, grew and grew and suddenly she couldn’t form words anymore.

It took her a moment to realize that Auriel had moved away. Her head was foggy, her body electric and twitching with the aftershocks. She panted in her chains, sniffing. Wet sounds came from across the room and outside the bells rang. She did not look.

“You did so well, my Briseis,” Auriel said, a moment after the wet noises stopped. Soft footsteps stopped behind Briseis, and a softer hand coursed through her hair. A hand touched the back of her neck. “My golden beauty. Say my name again.”

“Auriel.”

She sighed. Her hands continued to work through her hair, untangling the knots. “My advisors would not let me bring you here without chains. Do you know why that is?” She didn’t wait for her to answer. “It is because it is said that you once killed ten men on the battlefield by snapping their necks. One after the other. Is that true?”

If such a feat was, she didn’t remember.

“My lovely Briseis, I do not want to see you whipped anymore than I have to.”

“I don’t know.” 

She hummed. Briseis tried to read the note, what it meant. Whether it meant more lashes or— she wasn’t sure what came after _or_. “What am I called in your tongue, I wonder?”

“The Demon Queen.”

Her laugh was like a child’s bell. “I wondered why you had called me that. Is it a fitting title?”

“Yes.”

Fingers corded through her hair, twisting and turning. The pressure was pleasant, made something odd turn in her stomach. “Wouldn’t we make a pair? The Demon and the Devil.” The lazy motion changed to something purposeful: the quick motions of an expert braider. She closed her eyes: it was not the Demon Queen tying off the braid, it was her childhood friend. Never the Demon Queen, the one responsible for so many deaths. 

“Your hair really is beautiful. But you are filthy. Would you like a bath?”

Briseis opened her eyes and found the Demon Queen in front of her. The grime and blood that couldn’t be washed off by a quick scrub itched and crawled along her skin at the mention of bathing. She wanted it so badly. But to bathe with the enemy, to accept any amnesty at all ( _more than she already had)_ was worse than defeat: subjugation. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the bell, could see her soldiers led in chains to the block, could see their heads fall from their shoulders. 

She didn’t need to close her eyes. The bell rang and her soldiers appeared behind the Demon Queen as specters. A ghostly whip cut along her back, and amidst her ringing ears were the cries of her countrymen.

Briseis looked at the Demon Queen’s face one more time, her ethereal face that belonged to a mage’s empire long ago, and lowered her eyes to the floor. Mocking herself for what she would become while she had her pride.

“A bath would be nice,” she said.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I had a blast writing this-- especially when I noticed the hair tags. My muse hit me all at once. 
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Short comments  
> Long comments  
> Questions  
> Constructive criticism (plot, prose, grammar, misspelled words etc!)  
> Reader-reader interaction  
> This author replies to comments!


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